


guns and violins

by voltair



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Alternate universe - Mafia, Blood and Violence, Crime Families, Crimes & Criminals, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Akaashi Keiji, Detective Akaashi Keiji, Fukuroudani, Guns, M/M, Mafia Boss Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Nekoma, Organized Crime, Smut, Undercover As Prostitute, Yakuza, akaashi plays the violin, mafia, other ships will make an appearance too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltair/pseuds/voltair
Summary: Many people believe that Akaashi Keiji is a man of virtue and a model of those unswayed by the temptations of darkness, especially by his co-workers at the Special Anti-Organized Crime Agency—a secret division of highly trained detectives whose goal is to dismantle the networks that keep underground organizations thriving and eradicate organized crime once and for all.He knows it’s not true, and an undercover mission to usurp the Fukurodani crime family helps him solidify that.





	guns and violins

**Author's Note:**

> not sure where this is headed yet, but i'm sure the updates will be irregular lmao so i hope i finish this

Akaashi has been studying the rather hefty file the agency has on the Fukurodani crime family, also known as the White Owls. Fukurodani is notorious for practically running the Asian black market and being the only trusted supplier of the Yakuza, although Fukurodani declined the Yakuza’s offer to join their ranks. 

Normally, the Yakuza would have no trouble eliminating those who turn down their gracious offer. It’s only logical to do so because Fukurodani has an inside knowledge of the Yakuza’s weaponry that could prove troublesome if made known to their enemies. 

However, Fukurodani was a different story. 

Rumor has it that Fukurodani is home to quite a number of trained and ruthless assassins, exceptionally skilled hackers, snipers with unparalleled accuracy and gunmen of remarkable prowess. It’s said that one of the main sources of Fukurodani’s outrageous wealth comes from the US and Italian Mafia who hire their members to do the dirty work their own men aren’t capable of at a very pricey cost. 

Therefore, the Yakuza won’t be able to launch an attack on Fukurodani for fear of risking retribution from the foreign mafia. It’s even whispered that the Yakuza actually  _ feared  _ Fukurodani, especially its leader.

Bokuto Koutarou. 

Akaashi looks at the grainy photograph tucked inside the file. It was of a tall, muscular man clad in a brown trench coat. His gelled hair was a mix of black and white, and he was grinning directly at the security camera. The grin was carefree and playful, but his piercing amber eyes told a different story. They were saying,  _ “I know you’re watching.” _

Something about those eyes enraptured him and sent chills down his spine at the same time. His boss’s words rang in the back of his mind. 

_ “This is your main target.  _ Never  _ attempt to engage in any type of combat with him. It’s very important that you remember that. You’ll think he’s nothing but a foolish airhead who only ended up as the leader because he was set to take up his dad’s position after the old man retires, but don’t let that trick you. This man is considered as one of the most dangerous men in the world, and it’s crucial that you don’t lose sight of that.”  _

He set the photograph aside and continued thumbing through the thick file. He made himself familiar with the front companies and businesses the agency thinks are Fukurodani’s fronts, notable members, the depth of its relationship with the Yakuza and the foreign mafia, marked places where they are assumed to hold meetings and illegal transactions at, leads on their means of transporting illegal goods, leads on factories and/or laboratories where unconfirmed rumors of unsanctioned bomb-making experiments were being held… 

Akaashi comes to a chilling conclusion that despite being well-known, almost  _ nothing  _ is known about the Fukurodani White Owls. All these leads, these deductions… they’re nothing but baseless and desperate guesses. There is little to no proof in this substantial document. There’s more information about the Yakuza and the foreign mafia combined than Fukurodani. 

They’re practically ghosts of the blackest night. 

Akaashi is no fool to realize that he might not come out of this mission alive. There’s been some debate within the agency on whether it’s too dangerous to attempt to plant a mole on one of the most secretive organizations Japan has ever witnessed, but in the end a tip from the owner of Erotia—a famous brothel from the downtown—that the division leader has helped before proved to be too good a chance to run away from. 

Fukurodani was going to hire its monthly supply of whores and the brothel they usually depended on went out of business after being sued by its workers for abuse and unethical management methods. Erotia was their next best option, and the details for the purchase were already finalized. The brothel owner was generously rewarded for the information. 

And thus, it was inevitably decided that one of them would have to go in as a whore to infiltrate the organization. No matter how much their morals screamed against it, everybody in the division knew that fighting an organization constructed on the grounds of immorality while hanging on to their personal reservations is an easy path to defeat. You don’t get to work in the Special Anti-Organized Crime Agency if you’re not as ruthless as the enemy.

In the end, Akaashi was asked to do it and he agreed without further ado. 

He was the perfect candidate for it. Unlike his co-workers, he didn’t have any personal ties due to being orphaned at an early age. He didn’t have any friends outside the agency either. He’s not in a relationship. He’s reasonably attractive and pretty enough to pass as a prostitute. Out of all of them, he’s the one who won’t lose anything except his life if this all goes to hell. 

He sighs and takes a break from his thoughts, standing up from his desk and stretching his limbs before eyeing the outfit Kiyoko helped picked out from his bed. 

A white and frilly feminine top that fit him snugly thanks to his slender frame, tight leather shorts, fishnet stockings and sharp black stilettos. When Akaashi asked why he couldn’t just wear revealing clothes that are closer to being categorized under “normal”, Kiyoko reasoned that he should stand out from the others so he’d get picked.

He sighs again. 

Here goes nothing. 

  
  


-

  
  


They are lined up in a straight row inside a well-lit room. Akaashi is at the end of the row next to a petite blond boy about the age of seventeen dressed in nothing but a pair of blue booty shorts. His stomach turns at the sight. He hadn’t expected to see minors in this den of depravity. 

“Some men are coming here to pick a few of you up,” the sandy-haired owner named Tamaki Uchihiro announces as he stands in front of them with his hands behind his back, his eyes regarding them with a steely glint. “You’ll only be their toys for about a month before they return you here. Some would not return, though, as they would occasionally keep some of you a little longer than the others if you’re entertaining enough. Your safety is guaranteed as long as you vow to never tell anyone about where you’re going and what you’re going to do in the next month. I wouldn’t put it past these guys to beat you or even kill you at the slightest hint of petulance and disobedience, so it’s better for you if you play the act of the good pet.”

His words are met with acknowledging silence and Akaashi’s stomach settles in a pool of dread as he realizes that there are three more minors here. He can only hope that they won’t get picked. 

Everyone stills as the door opens to reveal two men in black suits and dark sunglasses (probably custom made to avoid retinal identification, Akaashi thinks). They’re tall and burly and certainly eye-catching, but they’re not what caused Akaashi’s breath to catch in his throat and his eyes to widen. 

It’s the man who stood between them. 

He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, the collar and the top button left open to reveal gorgeous tan skin. His shirt is tucked into khaki trousers, his hands placed in his pockets while his gold rimmed aviator sunglasses nested on his gelled black and white hair. His lips are set into a crooked grin. 

Bokuto Koutarou. 

Tamaki makes a choking sound and nearly trips in his haste to go to Bokuto and bow deeply while saying, “Bokuto-sama! I didn’t know you were coming! I could’ve prepared a better room—”

Bokuto laughs and waves Tamaki’s concerns off, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It’s no problem, really,” he reassures with a bright grin, “I had nothing better to do, which is why I decided to come here.”

“I hope you find them pleasing, Sire,” Tamaki says, still positioned in a deep bow. 

“I’m sure I will,” Bokuto says and cracks another sunny grin. Akaashi realizes why his boss warned him about not falling for this innocent demeanor. 

Bokuto Koutarou is deceptively charming. 

Bokuto walks over to them and started from the front, shouting out a “You’re in!” when he finds someone to be attractive enough and a “Not your lucky day today, pal” when he doesn’t. It’s almost like he’s not doing something as fucked up as picking prostitutes for his organization to enjoy like a bunch of horn dogs. 

He hears Bokuto say a “Not your lucky day today, pal” to the boy beside him and he internally sighs in relief. But then he stiffens again as he realizes it’s his turn. 

This mission all depends on whether he’s pretty enough to be chosen. If he doesn’t, everything will be for naught and a chance to gather information that only comes once in a blue moon would be wasted all because Akaashi turned out to be the wrong person for the job—

“What’s your name?”

Akaashi looks up confusedly. His eyes met Bokuto’s unnerving amber-gold gaze and an unnoticeable shiver wracks his body. It takes all his willpower to keep his face expressionless as Bokuto continues to stare at him. 

“Akaashi Keiji.”

Fake identities would only lead to getting caught, his boss had said. The plan was for Akaashi to be fired from the force so he’d be reduced to selling his body to keep himself alive. The local police department had agreed to go along with the farce. Records were forged and everything was perfectly faked, along with security camera footage of Akaashi drinking in bars and picking up strangers (that were actually hired). 

There are no recording devices on Akaashi’s person either. Given Fukurodani’s secrecy, it’s no surprise that they would search even the very strands of Akaashi’s hair to make sure he’s not a spy before he’s let into one of their bases. Everything would rely on Akaashi’s memory to reduce the risk of getting found out. 

It’s all meticulously planned by their intelligence officers. The Special Anti-Organized Crime Agency is a ghost operation hiding behind the shadows, and it’s a powerful one at that. It has already taken down two major underground operations in Japan alone. Their foreign counterparts are also doing marvelously. Fukurodani may be fearsome, but the Agency is formidable. 

If Akaashi manages to gather enough information from the White Owls before getting caught, he’s confident that the Agency would be able to shut their operation down. 

But all their planning would be for naught if Akaashi doesn’t get picked. 

“Why are you here?” Bokuto asks, face unnervingly blank. 

“Got fired from my job.”

“Where are your clothes from?”

“Stolen.”

Bokuto quirks an eyebrow upward, but he doesn’t say anything. The room was pin-drop silent as Bokuto raises a hand and caresses Akaashi’s cheek, running a calloused finger over the raven’s lower lip. 

Akaashi isn’t breathing.

He doesn’t think he can. 

_ What is he doing?  _

“You’re pretty,” Bokuto whispers, low enough so that no one else but them can hear. Akaashi’s cheeks are flushed under his touch. “I like you.”

Akaashi says nothing, his heart beating so loud he’s almost afraid the man in front of him can hear it. His senses are sharpened, the sound of his blood rushing through his veins loud in his ears. 

Almost unconsciously, his mouth dips open and Bokuto’s thumb grazes his tongue. The contact lights up a flame in his system and causes a stir in his lower regions, and he's suddenly all too breathless and all too weak-kneed. 

Bokuto finally pulls his hand away as he straightens up and looks back at his bodyguards, hands back in his pockets as he starts to walk away. 

“The last one’s mine,” he says to them and goes to head back out the door, but not before giving Akaashi a last sideways look, his golden eyes making the hairs at the back of Akaashi’s neck stand on end. 

This man is dangerous, he knows that. The rough hand that touched him earlier has been soiled by blood and the essence of crime. Roses handled by those fingers have the thickest thorns, making those foolish enough to accept his deceptions bleed in ecstasy. 

Akaashi can’t keep his eyes off him, can’t get rid of the heady clutch of desire stirring in his gut. 

That’s when he knows he’s doomed. 


End file.
